


Coupled

by spockandawe



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Body Paint, Bondage, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Come Marking, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Self-Harm, Sounding, Technological Kink, Tentacle Sex, Topping from the Bottom, Transformers Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2018-11-01 00:37:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10910712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spockandawe/pseuds/spockandawe
Summary: A series of one-shots, attempting to write a TFP transformers story for every kink on the kink bingo dreamwidth.





	1. Shockwave/Soundwave: In Public

**Author's Note:**

> [Kink Bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org)
> 
> In the same vein as the IDW document and the TFA one I also need to write, there are 98 kinks listed, and some of them are very hard to apply to giant space robots, but I'm planning to have fun covering as much sexy ground as I can. Kinks will repeat eventually, I'm sure, but this is all about having fun. 
> 
> Any relevant content warnings will be placed in the notes section at the beginning of an individual chapter.

The bridge is silent. Aside from you, the only mech here is Shockwave. You’re jacked in to the security system, seeing the bridge through every camera, so many angles all at once that many, many centuries ago, it used to disorient you.

Today, though, there is nothing disorienting about the view. Every camera feed could almost be a still image, apart from the movement of your fingers as you work, and the movement of Shockwave’s single hand as he works at his own console.

And then he turns to face you. You don’t face him yourself, only observe through the cameras.

He requests the current energy profile from a single sector of those you have under observation. It’s the work of a moment to send that information to his neocortex.

Shockwave stays where he us, unmoving, his optic still turned to you. He requests the current energy profile of the next sector. You send the information. Another. You send the information.

He moves sequentially through the list of sectors, one at a time, at that same steady pace. At the current rate of information transfer, the two of you won’t finish until long after you’ve both gone off-duty for your recharge shifts. He continues, slow and methodical. You wonder whether anyone else watching would recognize this for the flirtation it is.

You wait, patient, for longer than Shockwave must expect. He remains where he is, perfectly still, and you watch him through the many cameras as you continue to work at your console. You answer each request as he finishes vocalizing it, never early, only providing the information he has explicitly asked for.

Eventually, though, you take your hands from your console and turn to face him. You extend a spare data cable.

He regards it calmly for a moment, and says, “An efficient solution.”

You allow yourself a private smile at the humor.

He takes a single step to you, you take a single step to him, and you’re close enough to touch. You let your hands rest lightly on his shoulders.

When his port slides open, you bring your cable to it. You’re capable of jacking in without assistance, but Shockwave still takes your cable in hand and slides it into place himself. He leaves his hand there, holding you, as you ease past his firewalls.

The transfer of energy profiles from all sectors is finished almost instantly. The addition of all other collected data from those sectors that you have compiled and processed takes only a moment more. And then Shockwave slides as easily into your processor as you slid into his, a steady stream of pings for access that you grant as he moves deeper and deeper.

You take your time, curious to see what pace he’ll set. He moves slowly at first, accessing a single sensory recording in your neocortex, allowing it to play back in realtime, before moving on to the next. You respond in kind, following his lead. You access his parallel sensory recording to match yours, both experiencing the same memory through each other’s files, and you feel his amusement echo across the connection.

For a time, you let those files play out as they are. On your own, you can see his optic trained steadily on your face, just as you watch him in return. Through the cameras, the two of you are motionless, almost frozen where you stand.

As the memory builds and escalates, Shockwave reaches out to simultaneously access another memory. You follow almost instantaneously, tapping into his own memories of that same night and playing them back alongside yours. The interval before he reaches for the next file is shorter, the interval after that shorter still. It isn’t long before the two of you are layering memories of sensory feedback on top of each other in an even, steady rhythm.

The overload takes you first, just as it did on the day of that first memory. And Shockwave follows moments after, again, just as before. Through the cameras, it’s barely visible, just a mere twitch of your fingers and the slightest shifting of his weight. There’s no other outward sign of what happened, only the flow of memories of that physicality and sensory feedback that you share across the connection.

Shockwave draws out of your processor slowly, and you pull away from him at the same pace. It takes longer than you have any way to justify, but there’s nobody here to justify it to. The cameras all show you the same still image until finally each of you is back within your own processor, and the only thing joining you is the physical link of your cable.

When you disengage your cable, the stillness ends. Shockwave’s hand moves from you, and you let your hands drop from his shoulders. He continues to watch you evenly, just as you watch him.

Then he says, “My thanks.”

You incline your head to him just the slightest degree. And together, you turn away from each other and return to your consoles. Again, the room is motionless except for your hands as the two of you work. When the scheduled Vehicon patrol comes through the bridge minutes later, there is nothing to show that anything is amiss.

And when Starscream arrives on the bridge minutes after that to begin his shift, and makes a cutting remark about how the ship might as well be crewed by corpses for all the life you and Shockwave bring to it— You don’t acknowledge him in any way, but your fingers hesitate over your console for a bare moment as you smile to yourself. And through the cameras, you see Shockwave’s hand pause in his work in the same way. You don’t turn to each other, you don’t speak, and you don’t even send any sort of data. But the two of you share that moment of private humor together.


	2. Knock Out/Soundwave: Emotion Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for arguably-unhealthy ways of coping with grief in this story
> 
> [Tumblr](http://spockandawe.tumblr.com/post/160794646126/relationship-knock-outsoundwave-rating-mature)

Even knowing exactly what you’re getting into, even though you were the one who decided to kick things off,  _and_ even though you had to figure out how to negotiate terms with a mech who refuses to talk—Still sends a shiver down your struts looking over at Soundwave and seeing him there just standing there and…  _watching_ you. 

Well! Not the time for second thoughts. You’re here for a reason, and you aren’t backing out now. You manage a convincing smirk as you walk over to him. “So what are we waiting for? I’ve cleared my schedule, no patients lined up for the next few cycles, neither of us on bridge duty—”

Soundwave reaches out with one hand, and your smile is a little more genuine now.  _Finally._

But he just places one finger on your chest, right on the seam between your plates. Right over your spark.

You force a laugh  and deflect .  “It’s a little early to proposition me that way, don’t you think? Maybe we can go on a date or two first. I am a mech of delicate sensibilities.”

He watches you silently, unmoving. And he can  _keep_ waiting, as far as you’re concerned. You aren’t here to talk about feelings. You’re here to get  _wrecked._

And he finally moves. Just a half step so you’re standing chest to chest. From the corner of your optic, you can see his data cables move to you. You ignore them while they’re twisting around your legs and arms, just keep your optics on Soundwave’s face. The cables are almost gentle as they pin your arms behind your back. You test their hold just enough to know that you’re truly  _trapped._

The cables between your legs haven’t gotten _too_ familiar with you just yet. But just them being there, being able to feel the movement against your paneling—you’re more on edge than you thought.

“You know his dimensions,” you say, before you can stop yourself. “You know how much I can take.”

Soundwave nods, just a barely- noticeable bend of his head. You almost feel more pinned by his optics than by his cables.  One cable nudges at your panel, and you try to hide the way you jump. You don’t try to hide the way you do your best to work your hips against him, trying to get just a  _little_ more contact.

He reaches up a single hand to your face and places a finger on your mouth. You can see a cable  there , poised, next to his head.  You can see the little tendrils in the cable moving as he waits.

“Make sure I can’t scream,” you tell him. 

He nods again, and the cable pushes forward into your mouth. It  _feels_ larger than it looks. He takes his time, letting it edge in deeper so slowly you can barely feel it moving. His other cables are much more busy between your legs. You debate holding out as long as you can. But really, what’s the point? There  _isn’t_ a point anymore.  You let your panel open.

The first cable shoves its way into you quickly, and the second isn’t far behind. The one in your mouth is in deep, thick and heavy, pinning your glossa and forcing your mouth wide open. A third cable begins pressing at your valve, and you feel the ache as it slowly, slowly works its way into you. 

You jolt—or you would if you could move—when you feel something teasing at your spike. From what you can see, it’s another cable. It makes one lazy loop around your spike, but what’s it— Your head snaps back as you feel something—one of the tendrils, it  _must_ be—work its way  _into_ your spike. You can feel the quiet, uncomfortable  _movement_ of it inside you. Just like you can feel it deep in your valve, teasing over your internal nodes, and against your throat lining. 

Your spark aches with wanting— And it’s going to have to  _keep_ waiting, isn’t it. The third cable in your valve eases its way inside, and you can already feel another cable against you, moving softly against your node, pressing closer to the other cables already buried in your valve. You fight to spread your legs even wider,  but Soundwave has you pinned and you can’t move.

And your chest plating is just  _burning_ with the need to open, to bare your spark, you need— you  _miss—_ But another cable is already there, winding tight around your torso, holding your plates shut. You fight it, you struggle, you writhe, but there’s nothing to be done. And the moment you settle down,  you feel the fourth cable pressing insistently into your valve. Soundwave hasn’t trapped, you can’t move, but you still can’t help trying to spread your legs further for—for  _him._

You feel his hand on your face again, as he pulls you over to look at him. He’s as unreadable as ever. But the cable in your mouth presses even deeper into you. You make a muffled noise around him that’s very nearly a sob and fight as hard as you can to spread your legs.

_Please—_


	3. Starscream/Soundwave: Bodily Fluids

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr](http://spockandawe.tumblr.com/post/160831197776/relationship-soundwavestarscream-rating)

Starscream kneels on top of your legs, not between or astride them. His knees dig into your hips every time he shifts. You ignore that. He leans forward, looming over you, one hand braced on your chest. You ignore that too. If he wants to believe he has you pinned, he can believe that. You don’t plan to give him the satisfaction of struggling. And besides, you can feel in in every little movement he makes, that he may have mass, but he doesn’t have _weight._ It costs you nothing for him to think he has control.

Your attention is admittedly on his hand between your legs. He’s watching your face closely, looking for some sort of reaction. He won’t find it. But you have no trouble reading his poorly-concealed irritation. He shifts his weight, all his weight resting on a single knee for a moment as he moves. You don’t react. When he pulls his fingers from your valve and straddles your leg, pressing his thigh up against you, you do move just the slightest bit. He pauses, waiting for more—and he doesn’t get it. He sneers for a moment, before he reaches down to take your spike in hand. He rocks against you almost hard enough to hurt as he strokes your spike. It doesn’t take you long to reach overload.

You could be reacting outwardly to this. You could be communicating through your body, your hands, any number of ways. But it’s much more satisfying to frustrate Starscream this way.

He shoves his way upright, pushing off you as he rises to his feet. You begin to sit up, but he sets his foot in your stomach, his heel pressing into your plating barely above your panel. You stay there, calmly watching him. He looks down at you from the false superiority of height, sneers slow and deliberate, and reaches for his spike.

He is taking his time now, slow lazy touches without urgency. His hand moves over his spike at a speed he must hope will frustrate you. He may fail in that respect, but you do feel the slightest stirring of irritation over how clear he makes it that he understands so little of you.

You wait patiently. His free hand drops between his legs, and you can see his fingers resting against his valve, tracing lazy circles over his node. His foot is still planted firmly in your stomach as he stands over you, touching himself and so obviously pleased with what he’s doing.

You watch his face closely as you let your chest plating slide open. He jumps for a moment before controlling himself. You can see the suspicion written in every line of his body, but he doesn’t _understand_ until the light of your spark is filling the room.

He makes a noise that you make sure to record to send to him later, and you can hear his fans notch faster. His optics are locked on your spark, you see him stroke his spike one, twice— He overloads. Transfluid spatters across your chest, inside your chest. Inside your spark chamber.

Starscream is staring, transfixed, his mouth hanging half-open. He stares for some moments, until you sit up. His foot is still pressed against your stomach. You ignore it, and he doesn’t resist. Instead, he takes an unsteady half-step backward, giving you room to stand. He still hasn’t looked away from your spark.

So you turn and retrieve cleaning cloths. He takes one mechanically when you hand it to him, but doesn’t do anything more. You clean your plating. Then you watch Starscream carefully. All your focus is on his face as you let your chest slide closed, his transfluid still staining your spark.

The noise he makes then is even more strangled and inarticulate than before. You record that too. His hand is still clenched tight around the unused cleaning cloth. You send him the day’s shift schedule. The one that says both of you are due on the bridge in three point two kliks. He jolts into motion, but you don’t miss the way he still struggles to look away from your chest.

By the time you set out through the hallways, he’s pretending to have control over himself again. He still trails along behind you, and through the surveillance cameras, you can see that his optics are fixed on you. You can see all the tension in his wings and the way his steps are still slightly unsteady.

On the bridge, you go about your business, working at your console. You don’t look at Starscream. You don’t need to, with all the cameras. He can only look away from you for moments at a time before he turns back to stare again. You leaf through the various camera feeds to pick out the most undignified still image you can find. You beam that straight to his neocortex, and watch through the cameras as he jumps guiltily, then whirls and stalks to his own console.

Based on experience, you calculate idle estimates of how long he’ll maintain this pretense of unconcern before he forgets himself. When he turns to stare at your back again, that estimate is only off by a matter of nanokliks. This time, you select a still image of yourself and crop it down to just a visual of your chest. And then you send it to him. This jump is even guiltier than the last, and your cameras have the resolution to see how unsteady his hands are as he tries to do his work. You can see him trying to steal quick little glances at you over his shoulder.

You send Starscream another copy of the day’s shift schedule, and when you watch the way his fists clench and his wings pin in tight to his body, you know he’s taken your meaning. This is only the beginning of your bridge shift, and the two of you still have cycles more to go.


	5. Knock Out/Breakdown: Tattoos/Tattooing (paint)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr](http://spockandawe.tumblr.com/post/165387009221/relationship-breakdownknock-out-words-1206)

As talented as Breakdown may be with a buffer, you enjoy it even more when you have an excuse to have him paint your frame. Not the _basics,_ obviously, any idiot with a steady hand can paint a frame in simple, flat colors. But there’s a reason you’ve made a point of having detail work on your frame ever since you got to know him.

Sometime in the future, once you have more time to yourselves, you really will have to see about getting your entire frame done up, some kind of decorative detail on every single painted plate. It does make you sigh, thinking of the two of you spending a lazy day together, where Breakdown can work out a cohesive design that flows well in root and alt mode. But the war is a daily feature of life and serving as the only medic on the planet does rather eat into your leisure time. So you exert some self-control.

When Breakdown comes up to where you’re sitting, smiling and with his paint ready, you languidly extend a single arm. It’s only your doors, but you’re going to make it count. He takes your hand delicately, supporting and steadying it as he sets the paints on the table, within easy reach. He hasn’t even started working yet, but you can already feel your plating beginning to heat, slow and lazy.

“The same?” he asks. “Or something different?”

Touching up old work is fastest. It takes much longer to do go back and start from the beginning. “Something new,” you say.

He knows you too well, because he’s already reaching for the paint stripper before the words finish leaving your mouth.

You watch Breakdown work. He’s careful, and doesn’t get a drop of stripper on the rest of you. He rarely does, but you enjoy teasing him when it happens, and you certainly enjoy having an excuse for him to touch up other parts of your frame. But this time, all you have to do is sit there and relax, watching the way his face goes so serious and focused as he concentrates on the work. His hand still supports yours, keeping you steady. And although he looks entirely lost in his work, when you let your fingers curl around his, you feel him squeeze your hand in return.

You don’t look away from Breakdown’s face until he sets aside the red paint and begins to work on the new design. You’ve tried to make him explain his process in the past, without any luck. He can’t tell you how he’s thinks up the design he’s putting onto your frame right now, he ‘just does it.’ No matter how often you hear that, you always think there must be at least _some_ method to it. But no answer is forthcoming, and more importantly, it gives you a chance to tell him he has the spark of an artist, and watch the way that flusters him.

Not today, though. Today, you’re content to sit here in silence and hold his hand as he paints. It’s been too long. It’s silent enough that you can even hear the quiet noises of his fans as he works. How rarely do you manage to find this sort of peace aboard the Nemesis? Much too rarely. You hadn’t even realized how badly you needed this time with him until now.

So it is with some regret that you watch him finish your first arm, look over his work one last time, and finally drop your hand. You sigh before you can catch yourself. Breakdown sighs too, as he reaches for your other hand, and that’s all that needs to be said between the two of you.

Though—You sit in peace as he strips your old paint. But as soon as he’s done with _that_ and is ready to begin the new work, you lean back in your seat and wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him in close. You’re already running a bit hot, but that always happens in sessions like these. You’re not planning to do anything more until he’s done with his work, but you’re also not going to waste this quiet, peaceful time together.

He pauses, paint in hand, and gives you a _look._ “It’s going to take longer with you making things difficult like that.”

“Mm.” You dim your optics and smile. “How dreadful.” You shift your hand in his grip, letting your claws prick at the gaps in his plating. And you hear his fans notch up just the slightest bit faster. And you use your legs to pull him in even closer while you’re at it. He’s already warm where his plating rests against yours, but you’re in no rush.

Breakdown sighs, but when you bring your optics back online to look at him, he’s smiling too. “You’re going to chip your paint if you keep that up.”

“That _would_ be quite a tragedy,” you agree. “I do hope there’s somebody around who’d be able to help me with that.”

He just laughs. “If you damage your doors before they’re even dry, I’m going to dump the paint stripper over your head and leave you to deal with it.”

It won’t be an issue. The painting always ends the same way, with you lying back and doing nothing as Breakdown works your frame over just as slowly and with as much care as he used to in the painting. Just as patient, deliberate, and _thorough._ Depending what kind of mood he’s in, that part of the proceedings sometimes takes even longer than the painting did in the first place. Your fans are already spinning faster, and you make no effort to hold them back.

Breakdown doesn’t move any more quickly with your second arm than he did with your first. Even at the end, when your frame is running hot with anticipation, and you know he must be in a similar state. He doesn’t show any sign of impatience as he touches up tiny little details in the paint, things so minor you can’t always tell what he’s fixing. He doesn’t rush at all until he decides he’s satisfied with his work and sets your hand carefully aside.

After that, he finally bends to kiss you, long and hard. If you could, you _would_ take his helm in your hands and hold him down against you. But your arms aren’t in play until he’s finished here too. At the very least, your legs stay firmly wrapped around his waist.

When he breaks the kiss, he pauses for a moment to just look down at you, straight into your optics. He’s still smiling, but there’s something about him—something about the look in his optics—that makes your fans stutter.

He simply says, “You’re beautiful,” and bends to kiss you again. Not being able to hold him right now, right at this moment— it’s torture. But that’s the point of the game, isn’t it.

This time, when Breakdown pulls away, he rests one hand lightly against your chest, just beneath your headlights. It’s a soft touch but you can still feel your frame heat even further. He asks, “Ready?”

You laugh with delight. _“Always.”_


	6. Soundwave/Starscream: Penance/Punishment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for violence paired with sex, and sex/violence used as a form of self-punishment/self-harm, which also means a warning for lack of good consent practices by Soundwave.
> 
> [Tumblr](http://spockandawe.tumblr.com/post/173371910021/relationships-soundwavestarscream-soundwave)

Laserbeak realizes your growing unease before you do. She quietly calls your attention to the way you absently touch the places where your other symbiotes once were mounted on your frame, and does it again and again over the course of a single day.

She offers what comfort she can, and you gratefully draw strength from her support, but by the end of your shift, you know it will not be enough to calm your unsettled spark.

You first bring your proposal to Shockwave, expecting success. He watches you silently as he weighs your request, but eventually says, “Your motivations are clear. I will not serve as a tool for your self-punishment.”

You show no sign of how that unsettles you further, that you would misread him so badly, or that you’d be unaware of how easily he would read you. If not him, then who? Knock Out— no. You will _not_ take this to Megatron. None of the vehicons would be bold enough to give you what you desire, and you are not desperate enough to be so foolish as to put your trust in Airachnid.

Starscream, then, must be your answer. You send him the initial message, worded in a way to provoke his pride and jealousy both, and to offer him a tempting prize and advantage over you. But the proposal itself is simple. A fight, and the winner will take whatever pleasure they desire from the loser’s frame. You may have misjudged Shockwave, but Starscream accepts immediately.

Laserbeak is unhappy, and is only made more unhappy when you undock her from your chest and set her aside. You acknowledge and give due consideration to her worries, but you remain set on your course of action. You can still feel her worrying as you set her down on the side of the room, out of the way, but some of that is the way you both fret these days when you are separated. You send her what reassurance you can and turn to the door to wait for Starscream.

He makes his entrance less than a klik later, already posturing, but also prodding at you and circling your words, looking for a trap. There is no trap, no trickery, only the fight you proposed. He makes a point of emphasizing that he’s here as _you_ requested, for the sparring that _you_ wanted, that _you_ invited him in for—

In the normal course of events, you would be content to outwait him, but your spark is too restless for that patience now. You play an audio clip from Megatron’s years in the arena, a single snarled, _“Coward.”_ And in a moment, all Starscream’s maneuvering turns to anger and stung pride.

You don’t surrender without a fight. But you don’t fight at your full strength either. Starscream isn’t incapable, but he was never a gladiator like you or Megatron. You play other clips of Megatron’s voice, and each time, it provokes him into greater anger. You damage his plating, leave painful burns along one of his wings, but you don’t hold out long either. It ends with you pinned to the floor, Starscream’s knee digging into your back, and your plating practically humming with charge.

Starscream hesitates—still looking for a trap, perhaps—until Megatron’s voice says, _“Just do it.”_

He does. He forces your legs apart, ungently, and your panel snaps open before he can set claws to it himself. Your valve is already wet and dripping and he laughs unkindly, in a way you think he expects you to take offense to. He doesn’t prepare you for his spike, only drives into you hard and deep, then pauses, bent over your back, his claws digging into your plating.

You reach for him with your data cables, slowly, so that he has time to take them in one hand and pin them to the floor too, his hand painfully tight, denting them. You don’t care. Starscream presses your visor to the floor with his other hand, his claws leaving gouges in your helm. You barely notice, compared to the sensation of him moving against you, his hips slamming painfully into yours, your valve aching with need and hard use both.

You finish before he does, and he continues using your frame, with your array oversensitive from overload and the pleasure turned almost entirely to pain. And then he overloads, curled over your back, his hands so tight around your data cables you may need to take them to Knock Out after he leaves. The heat of Starscream’s transfluid burns against your valve lining, and he stays where he is, ventilating raggedly for a klik, before he pushes away from you and staggers to his feet. He says something disdainful, possibly threatening, but you hardly even hear him.

In fact, you ignore him altogether as you get to your own feet and quietly survey the damage to your frame. Once you’re satisfied your mounts are undamaged, you retrieve Laserbeak and place her again on your chest. Her relief echoes through your processor, and your feelings are no less strong. You send her an apology and a scan of your frame, with damaged areas highlighted that would almost certainly have translated into damage to _her_ if you’d left her in place.

Starscream has stopped talking, but when you turn to look at him, he glowers at you, then makes a point of turning his back to you and flicking his wings dismissively as he walks away.

Laserbeak watches him go, silently, and then sends you a small, quiet databurst apologizing that she can’t do more for you. You reassure her as strongly as possible that in no way has she disappointed you, in _no way_ could you ask for more than she already gives you. This is not something you would ever have asked of any of your symbiotes.

You can still feel the soft thread of apology that she isn’t _more,_ and you know it for an apology that there aren’t… others. But they’re all long gone, and their deaths were never _her_ fault. All you can do is curl one hand protectively over your chest as you limp off with her to the washracks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr](http://spockandawe.tumblr.com/post/173371910021/relationships-soundwavestarscream-soundwave)


End file.
